Page 84 of One Filthy Kiss

“Looked that way. She didn’t want to go inside with him.”

I hold his gaze. What kind of person sits back, watches a man fighting with a woman, and concludes that there’s no point getting involved in domestics? A fucking coward. That’s the kind of person.

“And you did nothing.” I glance at Bruno.

Snap.

Bill yelps, dribble collecting at the corners of his mouth.

“Do you have CCTV footage of the rooms? And before you try to wriggle out of helping me and my friend, the answer you’re looking for is yes.”

“Y-yes.”

Bruno releases his grip on the guy’s arm, and he leads us through to the back office where there’s a dusty computer screen and a haphazard pile of video tapes in an open cardboard box, several still scattered across the desk.

He finds the tape we’re looking for, slots it into the machine underneath the desk, and powers up the monitor. It doesn’t take him long to locate what we’re looking for, and I wonder how many times he has played it back, justifying his silence to himself.

As we watch the grainy footage, a car pulls up outside Meggie’s room. It’s late at night. Dark. A man climbs out of the driver’s seat wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up over a baseball cap conveniently shielding his face from the camera. I can just about make out the shadow of someone in the front passenger seat.

He walks around the car, opens the passenger door, speaks to the person inside and then slams his fist on the roof. I can’t hear it, but I canfeel the anger.

He peers away from the camera then reaches in and grabs the passenger’s arm, dragging her out of the car and shoving her towards the door.

The woman lands on her side on the ground. She keeps her head down as she stands up and rubs her elbow. From this angle, she has Meggie’s hair and she’s roughly the same height and build, but whoever this is, she’s reluctant to go through with whatever is expected of her. She faces the guy in the hoodie. They exchange a few words.

Then, he closes the gap between them and kisses her, gripping her hair so tightly that her head is tilted backwards at an unnatural angle. It’s still impossible to see her face, but I’m mesmerized by the way she responds to the kiss. She’s submissive, hands by her sides. She doesn’t try to pull away from him. When he finally releases her, it’s obvious that she wanted the kiss to continue, as if it was her lifebelt while all around her was sinking.

The man opens the door to Meggie’s room with a key. One arm around the woman’s shoulders, he ushers her inside ahead of him and closes the door behind him.

I’ve seen enough.

“How did he get a key?” I can feel the sweat oozing from Bill’s pores.

“She must’ve given it to him.”

“She?” My hand is around his throat before he can suck in a breath and hold it in his lungs. “The woman on the screen is not Megan Walsh.” I speak slowly, making sure that he understands every word. “So, I’ll ask you again: how did he get a key?”

His eyes are bulging. His throat clicks. I relax my grip enough for him to choke out a response. “She must’ve got careless.”

“Do you have a spare?”

He nods and raises his left arm to point at the front desk.

I let him go and he staggers backwards, his spine colliding with the far wall of the small office. We won’t get any more information from him.

There’s a line of hooks in an unlocked cabinet behind the check-in desk. The hook for Meggie’s room is empty.

I lock down the studio as I enter, ignoring the security guard’s spluttered, “But, Mr. Sabatelli…”

No one is leaving or entering until I’ve found out who broke into Meggie’s room and left behind their unpleasant warning.

I start with the director.

He’s on his feet the instant he notices me crossing the film set, Bruno at a discreet distance behind me. The guy clearly hasn’t forgotten our last interaction.

“The video came straight down just like you asked.”

I smile. “That’s not why I’m here.”